


Playing to Win

by MiladyMorningstar (PrincessPestilence)



Series: Games of Love and War [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bets & Wagers, Blow Jobs, Crossdressing, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Foot Jobs, Intercrural Sex, Lingerie, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Nondistinct Timeline, Not Canon Compliant, Panty Kink, Public Blow Jobs, Public Sex, Sex Games, Stockings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 18:11:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5550347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessPestilence/pseuds/MiladyMorningstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I had rather hoped you'd forgotten about the cross-dressing thing.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing to Win

09:41

 

There's still nine minutes left of class, and although Draco has long since finished his test, he is forced to sit and wait for class to end before he can turn in his assignment and finally, _finally_ leave.

 

It's the _day_ before Christmas break, and all Draco wants to do is pack and pull Harry into some unused corridor somewhere for a snog, or possibly a shag, and then give him his Christmas gift (and then shag again).

 

But no. Instead, his professors have decided to teach until the last possible second before giving their end-of-term tests. Which means, instead of snogging or shagging Harry Potter in an alcove somewhere, he's forced to stare across the potions workbench as the poor boy attempts to finish the writing portion of his final.

 

09:43

 

Draco slumps down into his chair and stares at the curly-headed Gryffindor from under the cover of his lashes, glad, at least, that they were told to write their finals at the lab tables and not the lecture tables, thereby allowing Draco an unrestricted view of Harry's cute, frustrated little pout, and the way his hair gets progressively messier the longer the test goes on. Not quite as impressive a process as Granger's stress-induced hair transformation, but amusing nonetheless, and Draco will take what he can get at this point.

 

Harry's tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth before sweeping across his lower lip, which then gets pulled and bitten between his teeth. Draco licks his lips sympathetically.

 

As the Gryffindor ponders the question in front of him, his quill comes up to further indulge his oral fixation. Seriously, is his mouth always this busy? Licking, biting, sucking, the boy constantly seems to have something in his mouth – and _damn_ does Draco wish that something could be him.

 

Harry Potter, for the record, is a natural cock-sucker. He sucks cock like he flies – all inborn skill and grace and he fucking _loves_ it (though he hates to admit to it).

 

Unfortunately, it's the middle of class and it would be rude to drag Harry away from his Potions final just to suck his prick to stave off boredom until class ends.

 

Although, Draco's finished, so perhaps it would be the other way around. Draco likes giving a good blow-job as much as the next bloke. It's just as fun to watch Harry fall apart under his fingers – or mouth – as it is to be brought off by him. If only he could sneak under the desk without anyone noticing.

 

Draco pouts and slumps further down into his seat, head falling to rest against the back of his chair. He closes his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest, stretching out his legs, only to pull back when they knock into someone's shoes.

 

Draco's head shoots up and he catches eyes with Harry across the table. The blond mouths an apology and Harry returns to his paper.

 

Wait.

 

He stares at Harry as an idea forms in his mind, eyes darting to the work table as if he can see through it, mental calculations flash behind his eyes.

 

09:45

 

Five minutes.

 

Plenty of time.

 

Draco grins and he toes off his shoe. He lounges back into his seat, affecting a look of perfect boredom and nonchalance, though he keeps his eyes, half lidded, locked on Harry's face as his socked food slides back across the negative space.

 

Once again he meets with Harry's shoe, and green eyes flick up once more, but the Slytherin doesn't stop. Feeling his way, Draco slides his foot up Harry's leg to the ledge of the chair between his parted thighs. By this point, the Gryffindor seems to have caught on to Draco's game and his (wet, pink-bitten) mouth falls open in incredulous disbelief.

 

Draco presses his toes into the apex of the brunet's thighs, smirking at the sharp inhale the other teen sucks in through his nose. The Slytherin pointedly nods at Harry's test before gesturing at the clock. A crease forms between Harry's brows, but he obediently returns to his work.

 

Good boy.

 

Draco rubs his foot along the soft ridge of Harry's prick, a surge of satisfaction shooting up his spine as he feels it twitch to life.

 

Softly, Draco pets at the length of it before he points his toes and cradles the sac of his bollocks. Harry lets out a reedy gasp, and Draco bites the inside of his cheek to stave off his amusement, eyes darting to the other occupants of his work table, but they don't seem to have noticed anything yet.

 

As Harry's flesh hardens, Draco ups his ante. He flexes his foot, the silk of his socks slipping perfectly against the fabric of Harry's trousers.

 

The brunet's hand is shaking and a bead of sweat forms at his temple from the effort. He diligently writes his answers, though even from his vantage point, Draco can tell that the other boy's handwriting has gotten messier.

 

At this point, Harry's hips start to hitch in little aborted thrusts as he tries and fails not to hump Draco's foot. The blond adds a little bit of pressure – not enough to be uncomfortable, but enough to add some friction to the maddening tease of his caresses.

 

He rubs his foot in a circular motion and Harry widens his knees, pushing his groin forward as he bites into his fits. His quill is trembling, and his writing has ceased, though, thankfully, it looks as though he's nearly finished.

 

Harry's eyes come up to meet Draco's, the vibrant green nearly overwhelmed by his pupil, dark and dilated with lust. Draco smirks and brings his thumb up to swipe across his lips. Harry's eyes follow the movement obsessively, hips still jerking into the rub of Draco's foot. The Slytherin opens his lips, taking the pad of his thumb between his teeth, tongue laving it seductively, and that seems to be all Harry can take.

 

The Gryffindor makes a choking noise, muffled slightly by the fist still shoved into his mouth, but not quite enough for the sound not to draw attention. Granger and Padma Patil both look up to stare at Harry who comes wetly in his trousers, coughing in his fist to disguise his orgasm.

 

Granger looks concerned, and professor Snape clears his throat pointedly. Draco removes his foot, his lips pinched together to suppress laughter as Harry's face flames, his shoulders hunching up to his ears in mortified shame.

 

The brunet runs hand through his frowzy hair and glares at Draco as he shakily concludes his essay.

 

Draco slips his shoe back on.

 

Harry forcefully scribbles a full-stop and slams down his quill with a relieved sigh.

 

09:50

 

“Everyone put down your quills and bring your papers to my desk. Class is dismissed.”

 

Draco slings his bag over his shoulder with satisfaction and swaggers to the front of the room, slapping down his essay and swanning out the door to his next class.

 

He makes it half way down the hall before Harry catches up to him, forcefully running into his shoulder.

 

“You are such a fucking prick, Draco!” the Gryffindor hisses, the blush not quite gone from his cheeks.

 

Draco smirks. “You knew that already,” he argues.

 

“Why would you do that?” Harry continues, ignoring him. Granger has already passed them, so Draco tugs the shorter boy a little closer.

 

“I was bored,” he says, shrugging. “I wanted to play a game.”

 

“A game where you get me to come in my pants _in front of everyone_?”

 

Draco wraps an arm around the Gryffindor's waist. “I was going to suck your dick, but I didn't think I could make it under the table without anyone noticing.” Harry makes a noise in the back of his throat that belies how fond he is of that idea. “If you like, you can try to get me back,” he offers, hoping Harry takes the bit.

 

He does.

 

“That's the game you want to play, then? We try to get each other off in public?”

 

Draco grins. “Whoever is louder is the loser. You choked, so if I make a louder noise or draw more attention than you did, then you win. If I can be silent, then I win. What do you say?”

 

Harry twists his mouth up into a dubious sneer as he stares at Draco. Eventually his shoulders slump and he agrees. “All right, yeah. I guess it sounds like fun,” he quirks a small smile. “What do I get if I win?”

 

“Anything you want,” Draco allows, swooping him into a quick, hard kiss, before ducking into their next class.

 

-

 

Draco sat through charms and lunch with no move from Harry, much to his disappointment. The two went on their separate ways for their afternoon finals before finally reconvening in DADA for their final test before Christmas break.

 

Harry grins as he passed by Draco's table before seating himself on the opposite side of the room.

 

He's frustrated and confused that Harry would go out of his way to sit so far from him (there was a seat open right next to him). What an arse. And he calls Draco the prick.

 

At least Draco's not a fucking tease.

 

The final is no more difficult than any other, though, and Draco soon loses himself in his work.

 

An hour and a half into the two hour block, a familiar head of dark curls makes his way up the isle to the front of the room, depositing his exam on the professor's desk and then –

 

Leaving.

 

Draco stares the at the petite form as he exited the classroom, neglecting to even close the door as he went, the rude little bastard.

 

Eventually the professor flicks their wand and the door closed softly, but Draco pays little attention. Instead he sits, glaring at his exam as he fumes.

 

If Harry hadn't wanted to play, he could have just said. It's not as if they weren't going to have sex later anyway, but it was completely unnecessary to get him so worked up and looking forward to something only to not follow through.

 

Nobody likes a cocktease.

 

Draco broods (definitely doesn't pout, he's far too dignified for that. Malfoys don't pout) for a moment before resignedly picking up his quill to finish his essay before he went to find Potter and teach him some bloody manners.

 

And then he feels it.

 

Hands push his knees apart and a body shuffles between them. A familiar, skinny body. Startled, Draco leans back to look under the desk, only just remembering to keep his movements subtle so as not to attract attention.

 

The very odd sight of a _disgustingly_ self satisfied, partially formed Harry Potter is sat kneeling between his legs. The top of his head, shoulders, and back don't seem to exist, the visible front of him seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

 

Or rather, it looked as if only the front sliver of him was visible from beneath an invisibility cloak.

 

This answered so many questions, and he would be very cross if olive tanned fingers weren't currently reaching for the fly of his trousers.

 

' _As they should be,_ ' Draco thinks with dark satisfaction. He deserves this, if he was being completely honest, after all the waiting he's done that day, putting up with Harry's dirty tricks.

 

The Slytherin sighs softly and lets his legs fall open, confident that neither he nor Harry could be seen from the third row, with Harry's cloak in the way. A Hufflepuff is sat a comfortable distance away (nobody ever did take the open space next to him), and so Draco lets himself relax.

 

He didn't want to give Harry the satisfaction of getting him off as quickly as he had made Harry cum earlier that day, so he puts most of his effort into concentrating on the work in front of him.

 

His eyelids flutter when Harry drew his soft cock between his talented lips. Unfortunately for Draco, the Gryffindor wastes no time in setting to work as efficiently as possible. In spite of his bid for self control, Draco feels himself harden in record time, Harry's mouth providing a sinful alternation of movement and suction and warmwet tongue. His talented lips work his foreskin until his cock was fully erect and throbbing, pink glans fully exposed and dripping precome into Harry's greedy mouth.

 

The boy was certainly playing for all he was worth and Draco mentally takes the time to congratulate himself on finishing the essay portion of the exam first. His breathing grows laboured as he works through the short-answer questions and, to his chagrin, he finds that he has to stop himself from making those little whimpering moans that fall so easily from his lips when he was buried in Harry's throat.

 

Well, no one could ever accuse Harry Potter of making things too easy.

 

He turns the final page and sends a silent prayer to the gods as Harry pulls out every trick in the book. The effort of staying silent on the other boy's part has the inadvertent effect of making his otherwise flawless technique somewhat messy, which only serves to turn Draco on even more. At this point, Draco has all but forgotten the original rules of the game, and instead is focused on racing to finish his test before Harry manages to suck his brain out through his dick.

 

Honestly he wasn´t even paying that close of attention to his test, keeping his answers at one or two sentences maximum as he races to the end, feeling his stones draw up tight, cock throbbing with need in Harry's mouth.

 

Harry takes the Slytherin deep into his throat, nose buried in the short, blond hairs at the base as he swallowed, the muscles of his throat contracting so so good around the sensitive tick of Draco's prick.

 

Draco inhales sharply, the sound loud enough to startle him, though no one else seemed to notice.

 

' _Well, that won't do at all,_ ' Draco thinks as he feels Harry's lips stretch around him in what was undoubtedly a smug little smirk that the older boy was not about to abide.

 

Draco reaches for his wand and silently casts a silencing charm on himself.

 

The spellcasting distracts him enough to get the last two questions out of the way, and the Slytherin lets out a deep (and blessedly soundless) groan, pleased to have circumvented the original challenge as well as win the race he was running in his own mind.

 

Free to finally enjoy Harry's ministrations to completion, he tangles his fingers in Harry's messy curls and thrusts up into his mouth, finding his release shamefully quickly. He silently moans through his orgasm, pulsing hotly into Harry's throat.

 

His orgasm must have tipped Harry off to the spell Draco had cast, because Draco sees a spark of outrage light up those verdant eyes he likes so much, and the sight prompts another spurt of come.

 

He does so love to make him angry, the pretty little thing.

 

Harry pulls away and Draco doesn't miss the scowl on his lips as he wipes them on the back of his hand before disappearing completely.

 

Satisfied, Draco tucks himself away again and gatheres his bag before taking his test up to the proctor.

 

Opening the large, oak door, he feels the air shift around what he imagined was a huffy little Gryffindor as he invisibly darts out the door in front of him. Draco rolls his eyes at the histrionics and followed him out. As the door closes quietly behind them, Harry rips the cloak from his shoulders and turns a heated glare on Draco.

 

“You cheated!” he accuses.

 

Draco holds his hands up innocently. “It was never stated that I couldn't use magic. It's not my fault that you're too muggle to think of using magic outside of a duel.”

 

Harry picks up the bag he'd hidden in an alcove and make an unidentifiable sound that somehow seems like the vocal form of an eye roll. “I assumed that was obvious,” he argues, but Draco just shakes his head, disappointed.

 

“Well then that should teach you not to make any more assumptions, shouldn't it?” He lectures. “In any case, I win,” he asserts, though he can tell that Harry disagrees.

 

“No, you didn't win, you cheated.”

 

“Harry,” Draco drawls, “if you're not cheating, you're not trying to win.”

 

The brunet stops in the middle of the corridor to stare at him, though Draco has no idea why. He rarely understands why Potter does the things he does, really.

 

“Oh my God,” the shorter boy mutters to himself, and since he isn't required to answer him, Draco ignores the words and continues.

 

“I already bought supplies for my winnings, anyway. It's a Christmas present to myself.”

 

The Gryffindor huffs a wry laugh. “You know, you're supposed to buy presents for _other_ people,” he states obviously.

 

Draco only smirkes at the other boy. “Yes, but there's nothing that says I _can't_ get something for myself. Of course, I've got you something as well.”

 

Harry doesn´t respond, and the blond turnes to see what the problem was, only to see the most distressing look of _complete_ blind-sided surprise on the other boy's face.

 

Oh, gods.

 

“You got something for me?” Harry asks in a small voice that makes an uncomfortable feeling roll through Draco's belly.

 

A flush heats his cheeks as Draco flippantly assures the younger teen that “I'm not actually a complete arsehole, Harry. We've been... _involved_... for nearly a month now, I can't _not_ get you something.”

 

An awkward silence settles between them before Harry sidles closer, dropping a chase kiss to the corner of Draco's mouth, which has the embarrassing effect of deepening Draco's blush. “That's surprisingly sweet of you, Draco,” he says softly, winding his arm through Draco's and locking their elbows. “I didn't get you anything though, I'm sorry...” he turns toward the taller boy and grins bashfully, a spark of playfulness in his eyes. “I suppose I could let you have your prize tonight. Even though you're a dirty cheat and you don't deserve it.”

 

Draco scoffs and the discomfort fades.

 

“A win is a win, Harry. Just accept it,” he boasts haughtily.

 

The two walk comfortably until they come to their individual stops.

 

“Meet me in the dungeon tonight around 11?” Draco asks as they turned to face each other.

 

Harry shrugs. “Sure. Or we could use the Room of Requirement? Only, it's more private,” he explains, rubbing the back of his neck.

 

Draco frowns thoughtfully before nodding, unable to argue. “Fine. I'll see you then?”

 

Harry nods. “Sounds good,” he agrees, and they both step forward to kiss before heading their separate ways.

 

It doesn't hit Draco until later that the whole exchange was far more sweet and domestic than he was comfortable with, and he couldn't help but think that it probably wasn't a good thing

 

-

 

As Draco completes his rounds as prefect, he quickly disappears and makes his way upstairs. He climbs up (and up, and up, and _up)_ and he briefly gives thanks that he is a prefect, because this was a long and perilous journey to make without the convenient cover of a cloak to make him invisible to wandering faculty. (And really, does this castle need multiple levels of dungeons, basements, and sub-basements? No wonder Slytherins and Gryffindors aren't friends, the commute alone is unbearable.)

 

He'll make sure to keep an eye out for anything that looks like invisible mischief in the future.

 

Finally, manoeuvring the moving staircase, he makes his way to the seventh floor corridor (seventh floor not counting the ground floor and the four flight's of stairs he'd had to climb just to get to _it_ ).

 

Inside the Room of Requirement, Harry is already situated atop a gigantic white bed and stripped down to his boxer shorts.

 

“Merlin, Harry, did you conjure up a harem in here? Are there catamites and concubines to go with it?” he snarks, commenting on the rich, warm, Indian-style décor. The bed dominates the room, the head of it draped in a white canopy which matched the curtains framing the wall. The other side of the room boasts a large fireplace, fire roaring on the hearth which left the room warm and cozy – comfortable for Harry, mostly naked as he was, but a bit too hot for Draco, who immediately begings unbuttoning his shirt, leaving his tie hanging loosely around his neck.

 

Harry blushes and shrugges, “I asked for 'a bedroom', but I think the Room caught the unspoken '- to shag in' added onto that, and went from there. It's a bit much, but I kind of like it, to be honest.”  
  
“Well, you can definitely tell what it's used for,” Draco says as he shrugs his shirt off, letting it fall in a heap on the floor as he approaches the mountain that is Harry's bed.

 

Harry crawls forward, letting his legs dangle off the edge of the mattress as Draco comes up between them. The Gryffindor wraps his arms around Draco's neck, fingers toying with the fine hairs at his nape. Draco ducks to kiss the other boy in greeting, their lips and tongues sliding eagerly together. The blond lets his hands roam the cool expanse of tanned skin in front of him, fingers brushing the curve of Harry's ribs before settling on his narrow waist.

 

The taller boy pulls away too soon, though, and Harry's arms drop to tangle themselves in the front of Draco's grey vest as the Slytherin bent down to dig in his bag. From their depths he extracts a flat, red box tied with a silvery-white ribbon.

 

The brunet murmurs in appreciation. “Is this my present, or yours?” he asks, teasingly.

 

Draco smirks. “Mine,” he clarifies. “Have you got a wash-room in this brothel?” Harry doesn't answer, instead rolling his eyes and pushing the other boy away, forcibly snatching the package from the Slytherin before disappearing behind another curtain.

 

As he waits he disrobes, slipping off his shoes and socks before pulling his vest up over his head. He leaves his trousers on, but undoes two of the three buttons on his trousers, giving himself some room, though they slip further down his hips, revealing his sharp, pale hip-bones and the charcoal silk waistband of his underwear.

 

He sat on the high bed, waiting for Harry to return. Already he was growing hard at the thought of how the other boy would look in what he'd brought for him, the slight bulge visible between his obscenely spread thighs.

 

Finally, the door opens and Harry emerges.

 

Draco moans and palms himself at the sight. The Gryffindor flushes bashfully and tuggs vainly at the hem of his sheer lisette.

 

Harry is dressed in a translucent, red robe, tied shut in a bow at his collar bone. It falls loosely down his body like a negligee, falling closed on its own but giving no resistance should Draco decide to pry it open.

 

It was matched with tall, white (it's his Christmas present after all, he wanted to be festive) nylon stockings that contrast prettily against Harry's olive complexion. Through the gown he could see the red swath of lace knickers currently cradling the Gryffindor's cock.

 

“Gods, you're gorgeous,” Draco praises, leering openly. “I am so glad you suggested this. Turn around for me, yeah?” he asks. Harry huffs in irritation but complies, helpfully lifting the loose fabric of his robe to bare the bow at the top of his arse. The lace only covers part of his cheeks, baring the sides and curving in the middle to reveal a window of flesh framed by a strap along the top, the bow resting on his tail-bone.

 

The blond whistles lowly.

 

“I had rather hoped you'd forgotten about the cross-dressing thing,” Harry complains wryly, turning to look over his shoulder at the older boy.

 

Draco chuckles and shakes his head. “Not a chance, Potter,” he disagrees, rising to move closer. Harry turns and lets the fabric drop again, though Draco quickly moves his hands beneath them, caressing the outer curves of his thighs. “Why, do you not like it? Is it not comfortable?” he asks rhetorically, fingers moving inward to touch the ridge of Harry's cock, half hard in its casing.

 

The brunet mewls softly, grasping Draco's forearms.

 

“Yeah, you like it,” the Slytherin confirms breathlessly. He raises his hands to Harry's hips and brings their mouths together again. Harry groans in his mouth and wraps his arms around his waist, pushing his fingers down the loose band of Draco's trousers to grip his ass and pull the taller boy closer. Draco parts the curtain of Harry's lisette and presses his warm skin to Harry's own cool belly.

 

Draco strokes his knuckles up Harry's abdomen, revelling in the shiver that racks the teen's body at the soft touch, which Draco offsets with a sharp pinch to the brunets nipples.

 

“Ah!” Harry cries out, arching his back to press his chest forward into Draco's hands. This has the effect of grinding his lace-clad erection into Draco's own tented trousers.

 

Draco groans and drops to his knees, adjusting himself as he buries his face in Harry's crotch, holding the robe open to his hips. He inhales the sharp musk of Harry's groin, pushing his nose to the soft crease of his thigh, cupping the bulge of Harry's bollocks in his hand.

 

“Fuck, fuck, Draco, yeah, suck me!” Harry chants, pushing his fingers into Draco's hair and tugging him closer.

 

Draco does, but only because he was going to do it anyway.

 

The blond turns his head to drag his lips along the ridge of Harry's cock through his pretty little knickers, placing wet kisses up his shaft. Finding the flare of his glans he wrapps his lips around it, sucking at it through the lace, Harry keening above him.

 

“Draco, c'mon let me out; you've already made me cum in my pants earlier today. Suck me properly; it's only fair.”

 

The Slytherin raises a pale brow and stares up at him in amusement. “Is this your reward or mine? F'I wanna blow you through your knickers, I will. I _bought_ the bloody things,” Draco asserts, punctuating his decree with another hard suck to Harry's tip, tongue laving him through the fabric and collecting the taste of his precome as it bleeds through.

 

“Fu-uuck!” Harry gasps, bowing over, curling around Draco as he teases him mercilessly. “God, you suck, Draco,” he complains, and Draco can't tell if the pun was intended or not.

 

Satisfied, Draco leans back and admires the wet patch on the front of Harry's knickers The dampness has rendered them partially see-through, and Harry's cock is clearly visible through the red lace. He stroked him a bit, giving Harry a bit of friction to thrust into.

 

Harry's prick is throbbing and wet, and with Draco's mouth gone, the tent of the fabric is not enough to contain him, his purpling head peaking out through the waistband, leaking against his stomach.

 

Draco drags a pale finger through the shiny stream of precome and sucks it into his mouth, moaning at the taste fresh from its source.

 

Finally, happy with his work, he rocks up onto his toes to slowly rise, licking a wet stripe up Harry's torso as he goes. The brunet whimpers into Draco's mouth, seeking out the taste of himself there as Draco shucks his trousers and leads them both back to the bed.

 

“Be a good boy and get on your hands and knees for me?” Draco asks, groping the curve of Harry's ass as it meets the backs of his thighs.

 

Harry grudgingly submits, climbing onto the mattress and settling on his knees and elbows, legs spread like the gorgeous slut he is.

 

Draco whines and strokes himself, climbing in behind the smaller boy. He palms Harry's arse before mournfully tapping at his thighs. “No, close your legs together,” he orders.

 

Harry twists back around. “Why? Aren't you going to fuck me?” he asks, which is a fair question, but it's not what Draco has planned for tonight. He shakes his head.

 

“Not right now,” he answers, as Harry obediently pulls his legs together. “Keep your thighs together tight, all right? I'm gonna fuck into them instead.”

 

“You could just have my arse,” Harry grumbles petulantly, adjusting his centre of balance as he clenches his thighs.

 

Draco shrugs, though the other can't see it. “I wanted to fuck you while you wore your knickers. S'not as fun if I pull them away.” He settles his legs around Harry's, bracketing the white nylons, pushing Harry's robe up to pool at his lower back. Draco drags his cock up the seam of Harry's tanned legs from the tops of his stockings to the bottom curve of his arse, briefly casting a non-verbal lubrication charm to coat his prick before pushing it into the soft, tight clench of Harry's thighs.

 

Draco groans happily, the tightness enough for him, along with the friction of the lace against Harry's bollocks which Draco thrusts into as he sets his pace, slamming his pelvis into Harry's arse.

 

Harry seems to be getting something out of it as well, which is what Draco had hoped for. Pleased, the Slytherin moulds himself into the curve of Harry's back, reaching his arm around, through the curtain of Harry's negligee to grasp him through his knickers, dragging the fabric along his shaft as he strokes him. The rhythms of his hips and his hand don't quite match up, but Harry seems happy enough, so Draco doesn't worry.

 

Draco hisses and groans, little sounds punched out of him as he thrusts into the muscular clench of Harry's thighs.

 

Harry's louder as he babbles.

“Ooh, Yeah,” he moans loudly. “C'mon Draco, yeah, fuck! Fuck me! Fuck me, fuck mmmm-- aah!”

 

Harry doesn't last long, worked up as he was. He yells (practically screams, really), and soon spurts onto the duvet, come splashing his negligee and dripping down his knickers, wetting Draco's hand as he strokes him through it.

 

The Gryffindor's trembling orgasm tightens his grip on Draco's cock, and his control falters. He thrusts erratically into Harry's legs, pulling at the brunets hips to drive himself deeper, harder. He's rougher than usual, no chance of hurting Harry like this, and it drives him closer and closer as he fucks into him.

 

Finally, he comes, spilling into the soft skin between Harry´s legs and staining his knickers.

 

“Eugh,” Harry complains drowsily. “Gross.”

 

“Fuck you,” Draco pants as he falls onto the mattress, brushing his fringe away from his sweaty forehead.

 

“You said you didn't want to,” the Gryffindor snarks, and Draco flings an arm out to slap his arm. “Have you had your fun now? Can I take this off?” Harry rolls onto his back, grimacing at the mess of his knickers, plucking at the come-stained robe with distaste.

 

“If you must,” Draco allows magnanimously. “You liked it,” he pressed confidently.

 

Harry doesn't respond (and therefore doesn't disagree), and lifts his hips to rid himself of the underwear, tossing them across the room.

 

“Leave the nylons,” Draco requests and Harry rolls his eyes (Draco doesn't see it, but he knows it happens) and unties the bow at his clavicle instead, pulling it out from under him before sending it in the same general direction as the knickers.

 

“Is this going to be a recurring kink with you, Malfoy?” Harry asks, following Draco as he climbs up to the pillows, burrowing under the covers to cuddle shamelessly.

 

“I dunno,” Draco says honestly, wrapping his arms around the smaller boy, pulling him in close. “It was definitely hot. Should've taken a picture – did you see yourself?”

 

Curly hair bounces ticklishly into Draco's chin as the other boy nods. “I thought it needed lipstick. Maybe eye-liner or something,” he advises, and Draco pauses for a moment, considering.

 

“Shit, you're right. I completely forgot about make-up...”

 

They'll definitely have to do this again, and Draco will diligently apply the make-up himself like he used to do for Pansy. Harry would be lovely.

 

Not that he wasn't already. Obviously Draco thought he looked perfect even without it, but Harry's right. Make-up would have made it even better.

 

Probably he can get a house-elf to get those stains out...

 

-

 

Harry wakes up cold in spite of the blankets he's buried in and frowns.

 

Sure enough, he looks around and Draco has gone. The Gryffindor frowns, had hoped for a round of morning sex before they boarded the train later.

 

Harry pulls himself out of bed and into the loo to relieve himself and brush his teeth, coming out to dress in the clothes he'd packed the night before.

 

As he goes for his bag, he sees another box, like the one last night, golden with a red ribbon (Gryffindor colours he notes). Quickly dressing himself, he picks the box up and deposits it on the bed, standing as he unties the ribbon.

 

Inside is a pile of heavy, brown fabric, which, as he holds it up, reveals itself to be a winter coat. Wool, he notes, with fur inside, which he guesses is probably real (he'll tell Hermione it's fake) since it was Malfoy who bought it.

 

Trying it on, he notices that it fits perfectly (of course Malfoy would know his clothes measurements). A crinkle sounds from his left pocket, which, when he digs it out turns out to be a folded sheet of Slytherin stationary.

 

 

_**Merry Christmas, Harry** _

_**I noticed your coat was in need of an updating, so I took the liberty of replacing it.** _

_**You're welcome.** _

_**Draco M. xx** _

 

 

Harry smiles, warm.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This took longer to write than I had hoped, but it's also longer than I was anticipating, which is pretty great. 
> 
> So here's the sequel with the crossdressing that I was making noise about, plus the bit with the under-the-desk bj that I promised Parola. I think I've got everything I wanted, here. 
> 
> If anyone's interested:
> 
> [Harry's negligee](http://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0685/1697/products/389017484_1024x1024.jpeg?v=1417693362) (imagine it redder)  
> "[Harry's panties](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/62/73/40/627340ddea0a388ebace32975a9f10a8.jpg)  
> [Something close to the room he conjures up](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/fe/83/01/fe8301aacccef071773624db5f87e6ee.jpg)  
> [The coat Draco buys him](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/16/00/43/1600430c1a10f9cc829788b831aac892.jpg)


End file.
